"There are easier ways to get my attention, Taichi."

He keeps sipping at his tea. The junior attaché had brewed a huge pot, leaving it steeping in the kitchen along with a mini-mart's worth of snacks to add to the junk he already had stowed in every cabinet and countertop. If he were the type, he'd have been embarrassed about so many colleagues seeing how he lives, but he knows their places aren't any better, living more at the mission office than at home when work brought them into town. One of the reasons he'd given his spare keys to Mimi—at the moment one of his closest friends both geographically and socially—to flat-sit at her weekly leisure, make sure his houseplants were watered and rotated, his mail sorted and stashed, Jiji the devil cat fed to see another day. Helps that he has such nice views from the studio's terrace, but her place is better overall. No one sensible wants to live in Manhattan. "News to me."

Mimi sighs heavily. Her head is leaning on the doorframe, face scrunched up in a frown. "How many is this?"

"Not 'many.' First."

"Definitely not first."

"First with a pen."

Her frown deepens. "A pen ?"

"Fountain."

"A fountain pen?"

"Jou's."

Doesn't quite grasp that she's repeating his answers not for further clarity, but to emphasize how insane the responses are to begin with, so she makes her gasp climb up an octave. " Jou's fountain pen?"

Gets it then, but not the point she'd meant. Instead, he warns her at once, mug lowered to his lap, his other hand settling into the neck of Jiji's thick coat where the cat's curled up by his hip, uncharacteristically affectionate, "You can't tell him. He'll blame himself."

"He should!" Straightens in the doorway but doesn't step into the room. Crosses her arms over her chest instead, because she means business now. "What was he thinking?"

"That you sign resolutions with a pen?"

"And apparently get stabbed with a pen." Her face is dark.

"Lightly stabbed," corrects Taichi.

"Is that supposed to make all this better?" Her face becomes even darker.

"Medically, sure. They discharged me after two hours." Leaves out the part where, after the police had finished taking statements, he'd actually asked to go back to the office. He'd left some files on his desk there, and there was the draft of tomorrow's press statement he had to sign off on, and a photoshoot with the first-year delegates before a state dinner with Finland's Minister of Defence. He was in the middle of asking for a Finnish translation dictionary to be couriered over when his deputy counsellor shrieked in what in hindsight was an understandable loss of composure, You're going home, sir! You've been stabbed! There is no dinner! , and did not appear to appreciate Taichi jokingly vollying back, What, not even dessert?

A chauffeured security car had never been dispatched for him faster, nor could he remember the last time he'd spent a Tuesday in bed by six p.m., deprived of even his work laptop on account of the doctor's no-screens instruction. He's sure the screens thing have nothing to do with resting, and still suspects someone on his team bribed the clinicians to make sure he did in fact leave all work behind for the day, but his whole staff had looked so close to tears about the ordeal that he hadn't fought it, trying his best to reassure and placate, no matter how against his instincts it felt to do nothing.

Honestly, Taichi really can't see what the big deal is. Not the first time he'd been targeted by some heckling nutjob, and certainly not the last. These are just the sorts of things that come with being the public face of a highly contentious political movement. Doesn't like to back down, because he doesn't like the idea that people might think he couldn't handle it.

"Discharged with a stab wound." Mimi stalks into the room, wrestling off her olive green leather jacket and throwing it and her purse onto the floor. Well, he might miss most signs, but this he can definitely read, mostly because it's about to hit him in the face. She says she's a pacifist, but he's got his suspicions.

Jiji opens one eye, sizes her up, and rolls over onto his back, returning to his nap. Taichi sets the tea onto the bedside end table, sinks back into the pillow propped up behind him where he's sitting up against the headboard. "A light stab wound."

"From Jou's fountain pen."

"Don't tell him," because her hand has made a small of determined fist. He tries to lean further back, but there's no other place to go. Why is she so mad, anyway? He's the one who got hurt— lightly hurt.

Mimi stops at the foot of his bed, nostrils flaring when she takes a breath. Gaze scanning him up and down, stumbling at the white square bandage taped just below his right clavicle, the top peeking out from the collar of his undershirt. Her voice breaks a bit. "Is that it?"

He nods. A bunch of stitches, really, in the anticlimactic end.

"It looks small," which she says with something like surprise, her reactive energy dipping.

"It was." Finally, someone gets it. This is not a big deal.

She still seems confused, looking back and forth between his bandaged shoulder and his relaxed expression. "But with a pen?"

"I mean," and attempts to demonstrate with his left arm, miming a stabbing motion that makes her flinch, "you can do damage with just about anything if you have the right momentum."

"Is this a joke?" Her face is pale again.

Taichi knows he's not the best actor, but really, she didn't need to look that appalled by the effort. "What's a joke?"

"Are you joking right now?"

He's not sure if he should finish the scene. The sharpness to her eyes tells him no, but he really feels he could get his point across better this way. Leaves his arm up just in case. "Uh—,"

"So what?" heaves Mimi, blinking quickly, "they just, they came up to you? In the middle of the signing ceremony, and just—just—?"

"Yeah, but I saw it coming, so I kind of just," and smacks the fist of his left arm into the flattened palm of his right. Again, a poor reenactment, given that his shoulder is well sore. Not that he'd admit that. She flinches again, a small little jolt. Her mouth opens to no words, and he finally catches up. His back straightens. "Mimi—I'm fine."

Her lip still trembles, eyes reddening by the second. "You were—,"

"Yeah, but I'm fine." Pulls the collar of his shirt back up, covering the bandage, aware that she hasn't stopped staring at the spot. "I'm always fine."

This seems to awaken something in her. "Always fine," repeats Mimi, faintly at first. Her hand goes up, folding a finger down for each of her points. "Someone egged you outside the Scottish embassy. A motorcycle rammed your delegation's car in Toronto. A heckler crashed your—,"

"You're just describing politics!" A more impassioned outburst than he'd intended, but the point stands. Doesn't particularly help his case by grinning, but he blames this on the fact that Mimi is so annoyed about being interrupted her nose has scrunched up like a round button. He would very much like to press that button. "It's important everyone has a say in the process."

Jiji hisses at the continued rudeness that is Taichi's loud voice. Pads across the bed to the end where Mimi's standing, extends his furry head to try to reach for her still outstretched hand, then pouts about as much as a cat could ever actually pout when she leaves him hanging.

She seems at a visible loss of understanding, struggling with her empathy. "So that's a say in the process?" Winces when she glances at his right shoulder.

"I mean, it's an aggressive say, maybe, but—Mimi," because her lip is quivering so much now he's finally alarmed. "It was a pen. It barely broke—here, okay? Look, look—," with the bandage half off before she has the time to react.

Rushing forward in a cry, stacked palms pressing over the exposed cluster of medical thread, not realizing how fierce her physical response is until his back hits the headboard, a lightning clap of white hot pain making his jaw hang open. "Oh, no," she cries again, hands flying off him, cradling her own cheeks. "I've made it worse!"

"No," he's wheezing, dazed. "You can't."

Devil cat hasn't moved from the corner of the bed where he's watching all this unfold, a motionless sentinel, utterly useless. Yuuko'd rescued and raised him as a kitten, gifted to Taichi as a birthday gift, felt better as a mother that she could send at least one member of the family with him to New York. Jiji made his thoughts about this arrangement very clear, rarely permitting Taichi to hold, pet, or most days even look in his direction. Convinced something was wrong when the cat stopped eating normally—out of sheer disdain for sharing a living place with him, Taichi can only presume—shortly after that Toronto visit. Only Mimi had been able to crack the case during one of her flat-sitting stints, meaning while he was on a brief foreign service detail to Rio de Janeiro she'd gotten Jiji hooked on gourmet organic cat food sold only at this one tiny shop in NoHo. Taichi had yet to forgive her for the chunk of his paycheck that went to supporting the devil cat's expensive taste, but Jiji had begun allowing him the occasional belly rub after that, so a debt owed.

Collects on the debt now, willing his eyes to stop watering from the ribbons of pain coursing through his shoulder, fixing a weak but reassuring smile at her. "I promise, you can't."

"How can you be so calm about this?" She's still holding her face.

Doesn't miss a beat. "Prescription painkillers."

Her laugh is a little strangled, like she had to remind herself halfway through the impulse to remember the situation. "Where?"

Enough stars have left his vision for him to nod towards the bathroom, and she's back in his bedroom after a moment's rifling. Looking quite put out, so prone to distraction when at her most emotive state. "The eucalyptus and lavender is supposed to make your shower smell good! How could you toss it out?"

He's fixated on the orange bottle in her hand. "It made my skin itchy."

"What?" About to hand over one of the small pills when she freezes up.

"Maybe I'm allergic, I don't know." Taichi really didn't. Had thought it was the water pressure at first, or the new shampoo he'd tried. Doesn't think of himself a creature of habit, but every now and then the universe sets out to humble him. Her lip is quivering, and he's out of ideas. "What now?"

The pill bottle crashes to the floor, scattering. Her hands are back needling her red cheeks, streaked with tears. "I keep hurting you!"

Jiji hisses again, but looking right at Taichi, like this is all his fault.

"That's not possible," and really means it. "Can you please stop crying?"

"How could this happen?" Almost wailing into her palms. "It's all so awful, Taichi! Weren't you scared? I just—Hikari called me, and I swore I stopped breathing for a whole minute! Took a taxi here and everything, and you know how mean the cabbies are when you get picked up off Fifth and ask to go crosstown! Look—my elbow's all scraped up because I hit it on that stupid elevator gate your super still hasn't fixed despite my numerous complaints! And why is there so much boiled tea in your kitchen? It's just going to get bitter steeped that long! Who's allergic to lavender? Are you a reincarnated sickly Victorian child? Is that why you didn't finish those lavender honey cookies I made you? I just thought you had bad taste! A pen ! An actual fountain pen did all that, enough for actual stitches? How are you even supposed to prepare for protecting yourself from something like that? You need pens! Where was your security? Do they just let anyone into these press signings? How were you not so scared?"

Had made it to his feet somehow, grateful it's only two steps from the side of the bed to reach her where she's still frozen in place, not liking how unsteady the ground feels beneath him. Sinks his weight half around her in a tight hug, as much as his right shoulder can tolerate, getting a better grip around her waist with his left arm. Has to bend a bit to properly tuck his face into the dipped curve of her neck, but the skin contact is worth it. He's always run warm, but she feels so much warmer, this soft safe haven.

"I was." Can't admit any more than that. Hopes she won't make him. Doesn't want anyone to know how badly he's handling it.

She stands still for a moment, then carefully loops her arms around his back. "Me, too." Pulls herself up on her toes so she can better rest a hand to the nape of his neck, fingers twisting around the curls there, already beginning to grow back from the trim she'd given him last weekend, wanting him to look nice and professional for his big televised press signing. "But we're both here now. Right?" Allows him the nonreply, pulls him even tighter in her arms.

After a while, Jiji returns to whine near their feet, jealous. Runs his cheek over Mimi's ankle, nips at Taichi's. Meows loud when neither of them react, then goes up another octave, make sure his point gets across.

Taichi doesn't look when he shoos him back with one foot, annoyed by the interruption. "This cat always wants attention at the worst times."

Mimi laughs, lower than normal still, but nonetheless. Leans back from him to touch her palm to his cheek, her thumb grazing his bottom lip. Smiles like herself for the first time since she walked in the door. The mounting anxiety he'd been swallowing back all day taking a breather, finally, when she looks at him like that. "He gets it from you."